Nana loved stories. She surrounded herself with books. She taught children to read stories. She was the keeper our stories. So, it's very hard on days like this to decide which ones to tell.

One story Nana said that she loved telling was about when Papa came home from the war in Korea. She had brought his civilian clothes down from the attic to take them to Washington for their big reunion. She'd say, "Gil was only two when he had last seen his dad and Tom had never met his dad. So, there were Don's two-tone oxfords... I polished them. And as the children were so fascinated by the big shoes, I continued on and polished their shoes. First Gil's. Then I even polished Tom's little baby shoes. So, I had three sets of shoes. When we went to Washington to meet up with Don, at first Gil was wary about this person we were meeting but when he saw this stranger wearing those big shoes," Nana said, "You never saw such a smile on a child's face... He recognized his daddy, and Gil's smile let Tom know it was safe territory."

The way she lived her life, Nana left some large shoes to fill. She was our matriarch. Our champion. Everything we ever did she chronicled in large binders that my sister and I lovingly call the Nana files. She made the best sweet potato casserole the world has ever known. She knew just about every word in the English language, and many words in other languages if they appeared frequently enough in her cross word puzzles. She was a passionate teacher and marched those shoes around neighborhoods in Georgia to petition to keep schools open during stormy battles over integration. Nana seemed to live by the phrase, "They don't care how much you know until they know how much you care." 

In recent years when her Alzheimer's and hearing troubles made it hard for her to communicate like she once did, I loved watching her interact with my daughter, her great granddaughter, Grace -- only a toddler. She would tap her shoe on the floor. Grace would mirror her. She would tap her elegant long finger on the table. Grace would mirror her. And before long, even without words, they were fast friends. Nana made her feel like a star, as she had done with so many people along the way. 

Nana's shoes danced with Papa for 60 years. With his schmaltzy ballads and deep singing voice, her easy laugh and great one-liners, they kept each other on their toes and radiated love that became the bedrock of our family. She was never happier than when all of her family was together. 

She was a devout Presbyterian and when it came to faith, she truly walked the walk. Her faith forever impacted my life, and yours too I suspect. She stood up for justice. She walked humbly with her God. And I have no doubt that she recognized her heavenly Father instantly when they finally met face to face. 

I'll end with this prayer that Nana loved... that she mailed to me several times over the years when I wasn't sure what was the next best step for me to take. And how precious the words are now when we all try to take some part of her with us for the countless other stories we will make...
 
"My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone." 

--Rebecca Messman